AT THE BOOKSTOREPART THREEA CONVERSATION

Walking away from the FBI man, George leads me to a reading area near the front of the store. A table is set with dozens of copies of my book and I sit in one of the two recliners next to the window. I don't think this many books are necessary. The only people in here are my retinue and the FBI. George places a fresh cup of coffee next to me and takes a position along the wall, seeming to disappear into a stack of books.

The FBI man hovers and watches me, trying to make eye contact. Shaking my head, I open my computer and pretend to busy myself with writing. However, the lack of customers or readers or anyone besides this damned FBI man cuts at inspiration and instead I stare at the screen in silence. The song changes on the radio and the familiar chords to Phantom of the Opera reach my ears.

I close my eyes and hum with the music. The phantom always brings inspiration and my fingers tap with nervous energy on the keyboard. My thoughts fly to the big fight in Vegas later tonight. How many men of a certain sort are in the city tonight? It makes me smile knowing the teeming mass of knuckle dragging idiots will make my hunt easy, like shooting fish in a barrel with a bazooka.

"The hunt?" I hear the FBI man say. He must be reading from the screen. Closing my laptop and opening my eyes, I take the coffee in my hands.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" I ask.

"I want to buy a book."

I place the coffee cup on the table and grab a book, signing it before anger dictates another response. Extending the book towards him, I watch as he opens the cover and inspects my signature.

"Fifteen dollars, sir," I say.

"I don't have cash on me, will you take a check?"

"No, I don't think so," I say. George hands me the portable credit card processor and I attach it to my phone. "Debit or credit?"

The FBI man hands me a black credit card without a name printed on it. Is this a real card? It works, however, and I return it to him.

"Will you go to the fight this evening?" he asks. "Is boxing your thing?"

That's what he wants to know. He didn't need the charade of buying a book, the fool. All the chapters are likely in my file.

"To see men brutalize each other in the name of sport? I wouldn't miss it for the world." I say, smiling. "You know what I think they should give to the winner of the fight?"

He shrugs his shoulders and stuffs the book into his suit jacket.

"A night with me," I say, winking at him.

A small chuckle escapes his lips and I tilt my head in amazement. An FBI man laughing? Isn't that against the rules?

"Happy hunting tonight," he says before exiting the store.

Don't worry, Mr. FBI man. It will be a great night in Vegas. For me at least.